What Dreams Are Made Of
by purplegirl761
Summary: "It's like a dog chasing cars, Dr. D.," Shego had told him once. "What would you do if you caught one?" Too-late-for-Halloween Twilight-Zonish fic.
1. Chapter 1

So. . . this was only supposed to be a one-shot, but it got out of hand. (I know, try to contain your surprise.)

A little Twilight-Zonish dreamfic, not really _creepy _but kind of weird. In other words, it might have made a good read on Halloween if I had been a week earlier with it. Oh, well. . . hope y'all enjoy, anyway.

**(((((((((((((((((((((((())))))))))))))))))))))**

Beautiful.

Dr. Drakken gave a grunt of approval as he began to circle his latest genius device, examining it from all possible angles. Absolutely _gorgeous_.

A cross between a bike helmet and Jack Hench's silly little Attitudinator, it was a huge, round hump of metal with a thick line straight down the middle and jillions of little wires and knobs stuck to it. One side was painted a soft girly pink, decorated with "ZZZ"s and fluffy sheep jumping over fences, so relaxing it almost made him yawn just to look at it. But the other -

Drakken felt himself grin wickedly. The other side was a deep, menacing shade of blue, even darker than his lab coat, so dark you had to be two inches away from the thing to be absolutely, positively sure that it wasn't black. _This _side had "MUA-HA-HA!"s scrawled in gold letters where the other side had "ZZZs," bolts of lightning instead of sheep.

The Dreamweaver. His baby. The cornerstone of his latest, greatest plan - completely foolproof. There was no way - absolutely, positively _none _- that sassy cheerleader could stop now.

Hmmm. Grunt. Drakken tilted his head and drummed his fingers on his lab table as he thought. True, he'd said that before about a lot of plans, a lot of plans that had wound up being kind of - well - success-impaired.

But this time! This time was different. Drakken reached out to stroke the Dreamweaver's shiny surface, hoping to calm the burning in his chest, the excitement bubbling up inside his belly. This little beauty was going to make him ruler of the world.

Even Shego had shown tremendous interest in it when he'd walked into the living room with it hoisted over one shoulder. Well, tremendous interest for Shego, which meant she had actually put down her nail file and raised one eyebrow in his general direction.

Drakken had introduced his sidekick to his latest invention, bouncing on the heels of his shoes the entire time because the utter wonderfulness of being on the brink of world conquest was so overwhelming. Shego had raised her other eyebrow and gave him a look that said, without words, _Uh_-huh. _Yeah, _right_._

And the burning in his chest had started, and not from excitement, either. "What, Shego?" he'd snapped.

"Dreamweaver." Shego had held out her hands and spread her fingers, mouth twisted up like she was eating a Super-Sour Ball. "That's an actually a pretty good name."

Why had she said it like that was a bad thing? He'd crossed his arms over his chest (admittedly not quite as villainously brawny as it was before he went to prison), glowered at her and _demanded _to know why that was a problem.

"Because." Shego had stood up so he wasn't towering over her anymore and stabbed her hands on her hips in fierce little points. "That means you put all your effort into naming it, and _that _means the plan's gonna be - oh, how do I put this delicately?"

His sidekick had reached up and pinched her nose between two fingers. "Pee-you," she'd hissed.

That wasn't even coming _close _to putting it delicately. "Shego," he'd said in the calmest voice he could manage with the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up, "when you mock me, it actually decreases my productivity." He'd read that in one of those business magazines Hank Perkins had given him a few months ago, back when they were running the cupcake store together.

Shego had not been impressed. Just thinking about it now gave Drakken that awful feeling deep inside, the feeling he was pretty sure nobody even had a word for. Fear and anger and frustration and a little churn in his stomach that told him he should stop trying to conquer the world and the burn in his chest that told him he _needed _to conquer the world _right now_ - and, worst of all, wanting SO BAD to see respect in just one person's eyes.

There were times when he didn't feel like that. When he worked in the lab. When he was eating his mother's cookies. Whenever he did anything with Commodore Puddles.

And, of course, once he conquered the world, Drakken knew that feeling would be history. He'd have adoration - and power - and glory - and an itchless chest for the rest of his life.

Which reminded him! He jolted straight up, banging his knee into the table and setting off half-a-dozen pain receptors all at once. Stupid things. He needed to _test _the Dreamweaver before he unleashed its effects on the unsuspecting citizens of the world. (_Ohhhhhhhhh_, yeah, that sounded evil.)

And this was far too important - too delicate - to test on one of the henchmen. And Shego - mehhh, forget about Shego. She didn't respect the scientific genius needed to create the Dreamweaver enough to use it.

Nope. This was a job for - Dr. Drakken himself.

For an instant, Drakken looked at his greatest invention yet and gulped. If it didn't work - if it had a short circuit or something - if it blew up - hoo-boy. He'd be in deep doo-doo. That thought sent little shivers down his spine.

But if it _did_ work - if it didn't blow up and maim him and singe all his hair off - he'd be ruler of the world very, very soon. Probably before the end of the month. Certainly before his next birthday. What a great present that would be, achieving world conquest on his forty-second birthday!

The shivers came again, bigger this time, and better-feeling. Tingles of excitement, not fear.

With shaky hands, Drakken picked up the Dreamweaver and carefully positioned it on his head. It was tighter than he'd thought - well, his brain was _much _larger than average, after all - and heavier. It almost felt like he was wearing a crown.

Grin. Now, _that _he could get used to.

Next, he grabbed the Dreamweaver's control panel, which was much, much fancier than just a simple "remote." The keypad's letters started to spin in circles, and he closed his eyes.

__

Concentrate, Drakken. Just try to spell the words right.

"D.R. D.R.A.K.K.E.N." He knew he got that part right. He might not have been much of an Englist, but he _could _spell his own name.

"H.A.S. T.A.K.E.N. O.V.E.R. T.H.E. W.O.R.L.D."

There. Drakken gave the words a quick scan - everything looked right, no jumbled-up letters - and then rubbed his chin in thought. Was that specific enough? Did it give a clear enough image that people would be able to see what they were dreaming - and since everyone in the world was having the same dream at once, it must mean something very, very important and they should track down this incredible Dr. Drakken fellow and -

__

FOCUS, Drakken.

"H.E. I.S. T.H.E. S.U.P.R.E.M.E. O.V.E.R.L.R.O.D."

Bleh. Backspace.

"O.V.E.R.L.O.R.D."

There. Drakken hit the last "D" with a _very _impressive pinkie flourish and cracked his knuckles. Now all he had do was press "Enter", and he would immersed - oh, he loved that word, "immersed" - in a dream so real he would be able to see, hear, smell, taste, and feel _everything_.

He wiggled in excitement, all the way down to his toes. But first - he had to get ready for bed. After all, he wouldn't get the full experience if he just passed out in his Thinking Chair still wearing his lab coat, would he?

Huh. Maybe. He didn't know. But he wasn't about to risk it.

**()()()()()()()()()()()**

Okay. Drakken sat on the edge of his bed, knees drawn up to his chest, as he ran through his bedtime checklist.

Pajamas on - check.

Slippers - check.

Contacts out - check.

Hair down - check.

He surprised himself with a huge yawn, one that stretched his mouth so far it actually hurt. He'd been up for three days straight building the Dreamweaver - not the longest he'd ever gone without sleep, but long enough. Funny how he hadn't noticed how blurry his eyes were and how much everything hurt until he was about to snuggle down for the night. There had to be some kind of fascinating scientific explanation behind that. Maybe something that could be use to conquer -

_One plan at a time, Doc. _Drakken could almost _hear _Shego scolding him.

He snuggled down into a comfortable position - well, as comfortable as he could get with the Dreamweaver clonking against his head - and pulled his wonderful, red comforter all the way up to his chin. It was a warm, safe feeling that almost made the itchy-burn in his chest go away.

Almost.

It was that "almost" that made him raise his finger to the Dreamweaver's control panel and press down on the "Enter" button as hard as he could. There was a big burst of light, like a malfunctioning Doomsday device, and fireworks exploded in front of his eyes.

And then there was nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**So - how does our favorite mad scientist deal with world domination? Let's find out. . . **

The first thing Drakken noticed was the weight. Something was on top of his head, and, judging by the ache in his neck, it was probably a baby elephant.

_Great. _He stretched his neck as hard as he could and moaned in relief when it popped. _I warned the henchmen that nothing good could from their keeping those exotic pets, but NO - _

"Lord Drakken?"

That was definitely not one of his henchmen. Drakken's eyes flew open, and he stared - in shock - down at a little robot. Couldn't have been more than three feet tall. Kind of a human-looking robot, but with big, bulging binocular-eyes. Looked like a child's toy.

But it had just said the sweetest words in the world. Words he was sure he could never get tired of hearing.

So - the thing on his head was -

Drakken reached up, and _ow_! Cut his finger on the sharp spikes of a crown. And not the kind you got with your Value Meal at the Royal Hamburger Hut.

No, this was the real deal. He scooted further back in his seat and rolled his eyes up as far as he could to get a better look at it. Solid gold, which was probably why it was so darn heavy. Jewels all over. Spikes at the top that curled into little _D_s at the bottom.

D for Drakken! His heart started to thrash against his rib cage. Could be true? Was he really Supreme Overlord of the entire _world_?

Another robot, a perfect clone of the first, floated by then. Well, he had to ask _somebody _-

"You there!" Drakken barked. Much to his delight, the robot froze in place and its binocular-eyes crossed in - fear! Someone was finally afraid of him!

"Y-y-yes, Overlord Drakken?" The words felt even better this time, better than anything he had felt since he'd seen that chiropractor his doctor had insisted he visit because his back had gotten even worse in jail. . .

Bleh. Drakken shook himself; now was _really _not the time to get himself all distracted. "What, exactly, am I overlord _of_, lowly servant?" He hadn't _meant _to say that - but it slipped out of his mouth so easily when he saw the fear on the robot's face.

And it got even easier when the robot fell face-first on the ground in front of him. Huh? Did it trip or something?

No, Drakken suddenly realized as a sizzle he'd never felt before shot through his chest. It was bowing. BOWING! To HIM!

"The world, Your Greatness," the robot mumbled into the carpet. "Dr. Drakken, you are overlord of the entire planet."

How in the world that he now controlled did that bucket of bolts say that without any exclamation points? He had to make up for it - somehow - because if he didn't, he was sure he would explode, right out of his clothes - out of his own skin - and his skeleton would land in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean -

Drakken's brain was whirling in about twenty-five thousand directions, all at the same time, but he somehow managed to command his body to stand straight up on his throne. "!" he cried. This was _his _throne. _His _palace. _His _planet. "I AM THE SUPREME OVERLORD OF THE ENTIRE PLANET EARTH!"

Dizzy with delight, he plopped back down in his chair so hard his backside stung. "Where's Shego?" he cried as another thought hit him. "I want her to see this!"

Now, let's see. Hmmm. Drakken wiggled his aching buns into a more comfortable position on his golden throne. Should he rub his victory in Shego's face and make her tell him how awesome he was before he gave her a country? Should he make her a crown, too - not as big or impressive as his, of course, but it seemed like a nice evil-family thing to do for a sidekick who had been so loyal, at least sixty percent of the time. . . okay, maybe more like forty. . .

Huh. The robots were exchanging looks. The kind of looks people exchanged when they really, _really _didn't want to have to be the one to tell someone something.

And, to his horror, the little burn in his chest came back. Where had it come from? Didn't it know it was no longer allowed to be here, now that he was Supreme Overlord Drakken? "What?" he snapped at the robots, and even the way they cringed away from him didn't ease the burning. "Where is she?"

"Supreme Overlord Drakken," one of the robots finally began, in the same voice Mother had used to tell him that yep, Eddy was right, the Tooth Fairy wasn't real, "you fired Shego. Several years ago."

Say wha?

"I - I did?" Drakken stuttered. Shego - his best friend, faithful sidekick, honorary sister? Fired? Why in the world would he do a stupid thing like that?

"Yes, sir." The robot sighed, which he had never heard a robot do before. "You felt you couldn't afford to be so close to someone - it was a sign of weakness in a tyrant."

Drakken's _knees _felt awfully weak by now.

"She might use that to overthrow you." The robot gave a quick little nod, like that would make him remember. All it did was give a horrible, mustard-sour taste in his mouth.

Okay, so Shego had been a cranky smart-mouth prone to excessive violence - and words that hurt - but he couldn't imagine his life without her. Especially now that he was ruler of the world. Who would jump around in all his money with him, help him make laws that forced random citizens to wear socks on their hands every Thursday evening just because he _could_?

But - he shuddered - Shego did like the idea of world domination. Really _liked _it. What if being his second-in-command wasn't good enough for him? He'd heard about dictators who were bumped off by the people closest to them - the only ones they trusted -

_Oooooooohhh. _Drakken's eyes started to tingle with what he knew were tears, and he blinked as fast as he could to dry them up.

"Same with your henchmen, sir," one of the robots added.

His henchmen? How in the world could they possibly be smart enough to overthrow _anyone_, let alone a super-genius like him? "Meh-eh?" was the only thing he could squeeze out of his mouth.

One of the robots scooted timidly toward the throne. "Overlord Drakken, are you feeling all right? Your memory appears to have taken a turn for the worse."

No, of course he wasn't feeling all right. He had conquered the world - finally! - but the only ones standing around to praise him were a bunch of stupid robots. That didn't do much to settle his chest. Drakken had always pictured adoring masses surrounding him, Shego grinning at him the way she did when he did something right, Professor Dementor growling jealously from somewhere in the crowd, a few of the more scaredy-cat citizens too scared to even come within five feet of him. . .

But he felt more alone than ever. His temples throbbed, same way they always did when he was too furious and tangled-up for words.

"Perhaps the stress of managing the latest uprisings is getting to him," suggested another robot - why had they all been built to look the same? Drakken scowled; cloning was great, but not being able to tell his lackeys apart was just plain annoying.

Wait a minute -

"What uprisings?" he hollered. His voice bordered on a yelp, and he cringed. Evil overlords definitely did not yelp.

"Oh, the usual." The robot waved a little claw-hand in the air. "The peasants demand their freedom, try to rush the palace and destroy you -"

Destroy him? Like, in a way that involved death? Drakken gulped and pressed both hands to his throat. It felt all clogged-up, but not with the kind of lump that came before crying. This just felt tight and scared, like he couldn't get enough air.

" - but once of a few of the rowdiest members are disposed of, the rest of them flee in terror."

Drakken's brain lost words - and noises - and anything that could possibly make sense, even to him. He just sat there, gulping, trying to breathe. It wasn't working too well; his throat got tighter and tighter by the minute.

_Disposed of._ He had a pretty good idea of what it meant; he hadn't been a villain for over twenty years for nothing. It meant the same thing as "gotten rid of once and for all" and "defeated permanently" and "finally out of the way for good, MUA-HA-HA!"

_Killed. _

But, unlike all the other terms for it, "disposed of" didn't sound like a big, villainous act. It sounded - boring, like it was as - as - as - he fumbled around for an impressive, Jack-Hench-type word and finally settled on "mundane" - as mundane as breathing and eating and stubbing your toe on your bed when you woke up in the morning.

And that was - almost scary. Drakken had always been in awe of the villains in movies and TV shows who were able to actually finish off - see, there was another one - their arch-enemies successfully, without looking away. Maybe, somewhere deep down, he'd even admired them.

But he'd never done it himself. Sure, there had been times when he'd wanted to - times when he'd been so close - times when Kim Possible was five inches away from the molten magma and all he'd had to do was throw one little switch - and then he'd suddenly needed to go to the bathroom really badly and dashed off because he couldn't enjoying his final victory over his teen foe if he was that uncomfortable - and by the time he got back, she'd escaped and was locked in combat with Shego. Who had not been happy with him.

Or the time he'd accidentally smacked his forehead against the top of one of his gigantic Doom Rays - he wasn't quite sure which one - and lost a contact lens and couldn't see read what any the buttons were labeled. The next things he clearly saw were a pair of handcuffs and Shego making that _Drakken-you-IDIOT _face.

And, of course, the Diablos had - had - well, they'd killed. Drakken hadn't exactly _told _them to, but he hadn't told them _not _to either. They didn't blast anybody smack in the face, but people had been trapped in the falling skyscrapers - and the smashed cars - and that was something he didn't like to think about, especially the little kids who could have gotten hurt. He didn't have anything against little kids - sure, they were annoying, but he'd never wanted to _hurt _them or anything.

None of those counted as murder, though. Not even the Diablos, if his lawyer was right. "Manslaughter," he'd called it, which apparently meant that you killed somebody accidentally, even though the word for it sounded even worse than plain old murder. It was a line Drakken had never crossed before, and now that someone was telling him he had, he wasn't sure what to think.

Well - the rebels had been people that wanted to kill _him_. Which would end his term as ruler of the world. And probably hurt.

_So - better them than me, right?_

Drakken reached up and pulled his crown down, firmly, over his eyebrow. _Right._

"Overlord Drakken," yet another one of the robots interrupted him. He made a mental note to get them name tags before the day was out. "What are you going to do now, Your Imperial Highness?"

_Imperial Highness. _The words sizzled in his chest and soothed the burn.

If only Shego could see him now. She had never been completely convinced that someday he would be in control of the world, no matter how brilliant his plans were. "It's like a dog chasing cars, Dr. D," she had told him once. "What would you do if you actually caught one?"

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do!" Drakken boomed to the imaginary Shego and the real-life robot standing in front of him. "Whatever I want!"

He licked his lips, which were actually drooling at the prospect. And, finally - no one would be able to stop him.

**()()()()()**

**A/N Hmmm. Doesn't look like things are going too well for Drakken. The next part will explore that further.**

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**It's lonely at the top. . . **

**This is probably going to be the second-to-last part, unless I totally surprise myself with a plot twist or my own longwindedness (both of which have been known to happen before). Oh, well - enjoy, guys! :)**

The only problem with that, Drakken quickly realized, was that there was SO MUCH he wanted to do - so much he _needed _to do - that he couldn't decide. The first thing that would pop into his head would sound incredibly important, but then another thought would come along and sound like so much fun. And then a third thought would pop in and squash them both.

It was overwhelming. Even more overwhelming than all those robotic clones running around that he wasn't able to tell apart. And he was getting really tired of yelling "Servant?" and having one hundred and twelve voices all answer, "Yes?" at the same time. Nearly deafened him.

"That's it!" Drakken cried as yet another brilliant thought stuck him. "My first order of business is to _name _you odd little creatures!"

The robots blinked at each other, and for a second Drakken wondered if he had offended them. But that thought got swept away in the excitement building in his chest. "You, there!" He stabbed a finger at the first robot his eyes landed on. "Go get me a Sharpie and one hundred and twelve name tags."

The robot gave a sharp salute - _oooh_, that felt _so good _- and disappeared. Two minutes later, it was back, with exactly what Drakken had asked for. Amazing. His old henchmen probably would have brought him back one name tag and one hundred and twelve sharpies, and then he'd have to yell at them, and by the time he was done, he wouldn't remember what he had asked for the first place and he'd have to ask Shego -

He stopped himself in mid-thought. No, not Shego. Don't think about Shego. A strange, hollow feeling started in his chest whenever he thought about Shego.

"Now!" Drakken uncapped the Sharpie and took a second to breathe in the wonderful aroma, even though Shego had always said that wasn't good for him. (_Stop thinking about Shego, already_, he commanded his brain.) "You!"

He pointed his Sharpie at the robot who had fetched the nametags. "You look like a - a - a - a -" Hmm. A what? He wasn't very good with names - just ask that one kid who followed Kim Possible around - whatever his name was. . .

The robot just tilted its head and looked at him, waiting patiently. Drakken gnawed on the Sharpie's cap as a flash finally came to him, a flash of the one thing he'd ever managed to memorize.

"Hydrogen!"

Drakken could have sworn the robot went cross-eyed. But he didn't care. He'd come up with a system for naming his robots - a flawless, foolproof, certifiably _genius _idea - and the itch in his chest was gone for right now. The only thing left was the wonderful, bubbling feeling of excitement.

"And - Ununbium!"

Drakken finished the last "m" with a flourish and stuck the nametag smack onto the last robot's chest. There. Now that he had a way of telling his minions apart, it was time to move on to his _next _item of business.

The wanted posters.

Zirconium took dictation - which, Drakken realized with a strange sense of glee, made him a dictator in more ways than one. Heh. Clever.

"$5,000,000 Reward for the Capture of Kim Possible," the first poster read in huge black, pay-attention-to-me letters. Underneath that was a portrait of his teenage nemesis, smiling at the camera like she wouldn't hurt a fly - or an evil overlord. But he knew better.

Zirconium paused over the print-out, puckering his eyebrows, which floated over his head mysteriously. How, Drakken wondered, was that even scientifically _possible_? "Dead or alive?" he asked simply.

The question shouldn't have drained his mouth of moisture, but it did anyway. He dropped his head, which suddenly felt full and tight, into the palms of his hands and ran his tongue over his lips to try and make his mouth stop feeling so dry. Didn't work; his tongue got stuck to his teeth and hurt when he pried it off.

__

Dead or alive?

_Well. Let me think._ Drakken swallowed hard and weighed his options - what a strange phrase. If Kim Possible was dead, then she'd finally be gone once and for all. There was no way she could escape and take him down and humilate him again.

But if she were alive - if she were alive, he could force her to work as his slave. Yeah. He felt himself grinning as he pictured Kim Possible in chains, bringing him his dinner on a silver platter, scrubbing the palace floors on her hands and knees all day. Then she'd finally understand what it felt like to be defeated and imprisoned.

"Either one," Drakken finally answered. He lifted his head and blinked at the fuzzy pink spots that danced at the edges of his eyes. "But - they only get two million dollars if they bring her back dead."

Zirconium nodded like that made perfect sense to him. Even if it didn't, he obviously wasn't about to question his master.

Question the world's new overlord.

Question _him_.

Drakken licked his lips once last time, and his mouth restarted its normal saliva production. Yeah, everything was okay.

Everything was just great.

Now, about that buffoon. . .

**()()()()()()()()**

Drakken had never seen a water slide quite that BIG before. It stretched all the way down one side of the palace like a big green snake, curving in and out of the wall before finally stopping in a swimming pool about the size of his entire haunted-island lair.

And this was all his, too.

Drakken grinned as he stuck his head straight into the pool. Being a world conqueror was hard work, and sweat was rolling down his forehead like he'd been out jogging all day. But a quick swim would take care of that.

Grunting, he hitched up his blue swim trunks - they crept down over his hips no matter how tightly he pulled the elastic - and took one last glance up at the water slide. The higher the slide, the higher the stairs to get up there. The more tired your legs got when you trudged up those stairs. The more times you got wonged in the head by some stupid kid's inner tube. The less worth it it was, because by the time you got to the top of the slide you just wanted to put your head down on the life guard's flotation device and take a nap.

Drakken scowled down at his reflection in the pool, which he could barely see with his wet hair hanging down into his eyes. He brought his head up and shook it off - and suddenly saw, instead of a huge tower of stairs, a shiny blue elevator with "For the Overlord Only" painted above its doors.

He bounded up on his toes and squealed out loud. Now, that was what _he _was talkin' about!

Yep, instead of taking half an hour to get to the top of the slide, it took about half a _minute_, and his legs weren't the slightest bit tired when he stepped off. Rhodium stood next to the water slide, a whistle hanging at his mouth. "You're free to go, Overlord," he proclaimed.

Heh-heh. Of _course _he was free to go. No one else was in line - no one else was even permitted to use this amazing water slide. Drakken rubbed his hands together, trying to let out some of his enthusiasm before he burst, and swaggered over to the top of the slide.

And looked down. And froze.

From all the way up here, the slide looked even longer. And higher. And scarier. A bitter taste rose to his mouth, and he slapped a hand over his lips to keep his breakfast in.

_Shego._ The words jumped into his brain by instinct. _Go down with me - please!_

But Shego wasn't here. Nobody was here except the robots, and they couldn't go down with him - they'd rust. And sink. And short out and probably electrocute him.

Fine. Drakken sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching in fascination as his chest expanded and shrunk. Evil despots didn't need anyone to go down their water slides with them. They were brave. Fearless. Brutal and ruthless.

He tried to get a firm grip on the sides of the slide - bleh, say _that _ten times fast - and his hands were so wet they slipped right off. Must have been from dunking them in the pool, because he wasn't sweating. He wasn't scared.

To prove it, Drakken plopped down into the slide, gasping as the cold water froze his legs, and pushed off. All the water promptly rushed off at two thousand miles per hour and took him with it.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCKKK!" It was a very un-brutal-and-ruthless scream, but surely the rules changed somewhat when you were falling toward your demise. And this _had _to be his demise. No one could possibly fall down from someplace this high, this fast, and not die.

"I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna die," Drakken muttered over and over again. He was pretty sure it was the only thing that kept him from leaning over the side of the water slide and barfing into the pool.

The slide gave its first twist, and he flinched - he knew the momentum of the water would carry him with it, but it sure looked like he was going to collide with the side. At the very last second, he jerked away, and the thought occurred to him that he might survive this after all.

As a matter of fact, by the time he could see the pool at the other end of the slide, Drakken was actually having fun. The goosebumps on his arm had shrunk from the size of golf balls down to their usual tiny bumps, and his heart was thumping around in his chest with _excitement _instead of terror.

Then he hit. Face-first in the pool, with water rushing up his nose and making his head feel like it was clamped in a hydraulic press. Water clogging up his ears. Just before he went under, he saw the red letters painted by the side of the pool. 6 FEET.

His feet wouldn't touch the bottom.

_Oh, doodlebugs! I AM gonna die!_

_No, Drakken!_ his brain screamed as his head went under and chlorine stung his eyes. _Don't panic! You can swim, for crying out loud!_

Right. He knew how to swim - not that great, but good enough not to die. He wouldn't die.

Flailing his arms frantically, Drakken managed to thrash his way up to the surface and cough up a couple of gallons worth of water. Okay - good - he wasn't drowning anymore. _Now - tread water over to the ladder. _

The terror was disappearing, leaving him feeling shaky and weak-limbed, and when he got to the ladder, he was barely able to drag himself up it. But he did, and collapsed on the land in a breathless heap, his ears still sloshy with water and his nose still stinging. This must have been how sailors felt when they surveyed shipwrecks.

Who designed that stupid water slide anyway? Drakken scowled up at the sun that dared to shine on him in his misery. Maybe he should have bumped the guy off when he had the chance.

Did he just think that? Drakken jerked his head up, and, _aahhh._ The water trickled out of his ears. (Blessed relief.)

Well, sure he just thought that. He was a world conqueror, after all, and now he finally developing the brutalness and ruthlessity that he needed if he was going to _keep _being a world conqueror.

So, despite the squirmy feeling in his gut, Drakken knew that was a good thing.

**()()()()()()()**

"What - a - genius - you - are - Your - Supreme - Drakkenness. You - win - Overlord."

For the seventy-eighth time in a row. Drakken put his achy head down on the arcade game's joystick and tried not to moan out loud.

"Would - you - like - to - play - again?"

No. Drakken peeled himself off the big boxlike game and stretched his silk shirt out in front of him - it was still sticking to his wet chest. Winning had been all peachy-keen the first seventy-seven times, but now he was just plain _bored_.

"Do you think - do you think you could actually try this time?" Drakken got out in a raspy whisper. His vocal chords were still all raw and hurting from whooping with joy over all his other victories. "Not just let me win?"

He had never heard an arcade game say, "Uhhh. . ." before, and he had to chomp his tongue to keep from adding "PLEASE?" He was in charge of the world, for crying out loud; he shouldn't have to beg anyone for anything anymore!

"That - is - not - in - my - programming. The - Overlord - always - wins - because - you - are -"

"I know, I know." Drakken sank down to the floor and hugged his knees to his chest, which burned worse than ever. "Because I'm such a genius."

Ohh, he missed Shego. And the henchmen, come to think of it. Even if they weren't all that bright, at least they didn't let him win on _purpose_. With them, he actually had to _try_. And if Shego got involved, he had to try even _harder_. He might actually _lose_.

He couldn't believe how appealing that sounded right at this moment.

And there was only one place to go when his insides were that tangled up and his brain was throbbing with confusion. "SULFUR!" he hollered.

The little robot was at his side in just a little over a nanosecond, hand already to his forehead in a salute. "You called, Overlord Drakken?"

"Where is my lab?" Drakken barked. Sulfur cringed, but he didn't care. He was through being Mr. Nice Guy; the frustration pressing at his chest hurt too bad. Badly. Whatever.

"Lab, sir?" Sulfur repeated in confusion.

Ugh. And here he'd though these guys would be smarter than his regular henchmen. "My SCIENCE - LABORATORY!" he spat out, because his teeth suddenly wouldn't come apart. It was worse than when he first got his braces. "The one I WORK IN!"

Sulfur went straight down to the ground, face nearly touching the carpet. "Sir, you have no science laboratory."

Drakken felt like he'd been punched. "WHAT did you say?"

"Well, once you had achieved your goal of utter world domination - and quite brilliantly, at that, Dear Overlord - "

His left eye actually twitched - he could feel the scar tissue bunching. "SPIT IT OUT!" Drakken screamed at the top of his lungs, and he didn't even care that he sounded like Dementor or that his crown was slipping down and covering his _right _eye. Stupid thing was so heavy it was about to push his neck right into his shoulders.

"You no longer deemed a lab necessary, since you would have no further evil schemes to carry out." Sulfur was looking at him like he expected to have plasma balls thrown at him. Drakken knew _that _feeling.

But - he didn't have a lab? How he could _not _have a lab? A

laboratory was like a bathroom! It was absolutely necessary, and if he had to choose between the two. . .

"I am sorry, my Overlord. I didn't mean to cause you grief." Sulfur's eyes drooped at the corners.

Did he actually care? Or was it just in his _programming_? Drakken pressed a trembly fist to his lips and blinked rapidly just in case his tear ducts decided to start malfunctioning.

"But it is almost time for dinner, Your Greatness." Sulfur bowed. "Your daily banquet always cheers you up."

And with good reason. Just mentioning those _words _- "dinner," "banquet," - made his mouth water and his nose twitch and his tummy grumble.

Yeah. If nothing else, a nice meal would cheer him up.

**()()()()()()()()**

"Overlord?"

Ohhhh. Who was talking to him? Drakken cracked one eye and peered into the blurry face of - Sulfur? Or was it Silicon? Silver?

"Did you enjoy your banquet?" He opened his other eye and lifted his head off his arms, which he had folded up on the armrest of his throne. Not very comfy, but he _really _needed to lie down.

Nitrogen peered up at him. Drat. Nitrogen. He hadn't even been close.

"What - what was the question again?" Drakken asked. His middle gave a loud, angry gurgle, and he pushed down at it as hard as he could. _Shut up and settle down, already. I didn't eat THAT much. _

At least he could chalk the bad feeling in his chest up to heartburn now. Maybe that was all it had ever been. He sighed slowly - and then burped - it just slipped out.

"Did you enjoy your banquet, Overlord?" Nitrogen repeated.

Drakken didn't feel much like talking right now - and for him, that was really saying something. At least that was what Shego always said. "Yes."

Maybe a little too much. He patted his stomach, achy and puffy like the blisters he used to get when he practiced his maniacal hand-rubbing without his gloves on, and rolled over onto his other side.

Ooooh. That really made him woozy. He slapped his hand back over his mouth again.

"You appear troubled, Overlord," Nitrogen observed.

Drakken would have shot back something sarcastic - he hadn't worked with Shego for nearly five years for nothing - but he was afraid to take his hand down. "Mmmph greh," he mumbled into his fingers.

Nitrogen nodded like he understood that. "Bring the overlord some wine," he called - Drakken wasn't quite sure who he was walking to, but Helium soon appeared with a bottle on a silver platter.

He blinked at it. "What is this?" Didn't look like cocoa moo, that was for sure.

Hmmm. Didn't _smell _like it, either. This had a weird, fruity smell that dripped drool off his lips and made his head spin.

Helium smiled at him, the way people always did when they thought he was acting like a moron. "Wine, Your Greatness." He patted Drakken's elbow, and Drakken jerked away in panic. More than ever, he _hated _the thought of being touched. "It's what the Overlord always uses to relax."

Drakken peered at the shiny, skinny-necked bottle. "Really?" That surprised him; he'd never really been much of a drinker, unless you counted that catastrophe last year at one of HenchCo's villain parties. (_Either I missed a cloning-machine demonstration somewhere, _he distinctly remembered thinking halfway through his second glass, _or this stuff isn't fruit punch after all_.)

Helium and Nitrogen both nodded. "I have seen you go through several bottles of this stuff at once," Nitrogen added.

Several _bottles_? He'd been sure he was going to die after those few glasses last year. "When did I do _that_?" he yelped. Didn't mean to yelp. It just happened - and so did another burp.

"It was right after you'd quashed your first rebellion, Overlord," Helium explained. "I believe the casualties upset you."

_Casualties. _That had nothing to do with being casual, Drakken knew. It meant people had _died._ People had been _killed_. _He _had killed them.

How? Volcanic lava? Shark tank? Cardiac-arrest-inducing ray? Had their been blood? Who where they? Some of Kim Possible's family? Her stupid evil father, who was pretty much responsible for him becoming a supervillain in the first place? Her mother, who always looked at him like he was a puppy about to be put to sleep even though he was _really _her daughter's arch-nemesis? The little clone-twins, who were just like he was when he was twelve and would have made excellent mad scientists someday? Stoppable's parents or sweet baby sister?

At the thought of those big, black eyes - those soft little coos - Drakken's chest started burning, itching, and hurting all at the same time, worse than it _ever_ had. And it wasn't the only thing. His stomach was still churning, his neck was still sore from that stupid crown, and he'd been sitting on his throne for so long, he couldn't even _feel _his posterior anymore.

"Can - can I just take a nap?" Drakken whispered, surprised at how cracked and weak his voice sounded. His lips were thick and mushy, like he'd somehow gotten indrunkinated just by _smelling _the wine.

Nitrogen looked at him like he'd just asked to eat one of his sprockets. "Oh, no, Overlord," he gasped.

"Why not?" Drakken snapped back. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how much he just wanted to lie down and sleep - and make all of this go away.

__

Why won't it go away?

"A dictator cannot allow himself to be vulnerable any longer than necessary," Helium explained. "Even sleeping a few hours at night is risking it. The resistance movements would love to catch you sleeping - and drive a knife right into your back."

Did he have to _say _that? Drakken gasped and wrenched around to grab his back, just to make sure there wasn't a gaping hole in the middle of it. Good grief; it hurt bad enough without people sticking sharp objects into it. . .

"Please," he croaked. Okay, maybe it was more of a whimper, but he didn't care about sounding tough right now. "My back hurts. My neck hurts. My stomach hurts. My butt hurts. My head hurts. _Please _just let me take a nap!" His eyes gave that warning tingle, and he swiped his fists across them in fury.

The anger and the frustration and the sadness and the fear all swirled together in Drakken's chest, making one big chemical reaction that didn't even have a name, as far as he knew. All he knew for sure was that his head was about to explode right off his neck. Why wouldn't these stupid robots understand?

"I have a much better idea, Lord Drakken," Helium finally said. "Why don't you go your room and count your billions of dollars? Jump around barefoot in them? That always makes you feel better."

Any other time, that would have sounded absolutely wondered - billions of dollars, for Drakken to spend on whatever he wanted. He'd never had any money to spare, and certainly not enough to jump around in like a pile of expensive leaves. But now he was pretty sure he didn't have the strength to _count_, let alone jump.

Still, an evil little idea crept into his brain. What if - what if he told them he was going to go count his billions of dollars and then snuck - sneaked - snucked - back into his room to take a nap? After all, _he _was the one in charge of this palace. This country. This _planet_.

"All right," Drakken said, giving a huge sigh for good measure. "If you need me, I'll be frolicking in my riches."

Nitrogen waved as he left the room. "Have fun, Overlord."

Gah. He'd never admit it to anyone, but he _was _getting tired of that. What he wouldn't give to hear "Drakken" or "Dr. D" again. . .

Back in his room, the first thing he did was take off that crown and throw it on top of the dresser. Stupid thing. It may have been pretty, but it was _annoying_, too.

Like Shego. Who he suddenly missed so much he couldn't stand it. He leaned against the dresser and swallowed, hard, because the five weeks' worth of food in his stomach was starting to act up again.

Drakken shuddered in a breath - yeah, that was it. Deep breaths. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

Okay, that was better. Much better. He dared to lift his head and meet his own tired, saggy brown eyes in the mirror. Hurk - he look didn't a thing like an evil mastermind.

There were crows-feet around Drakken's eyes that he had barely noticed before (and he'd never understood that name - the stupid little wrinkles didn't look like crows _or _feet). The bags under his eyes had been there as long as he could remember, but now they were so big they made him look like he was wearing a burglar's mask. And the grooves around his mouth and nose were _never _there. Ever. He would remember them.

His impressive, expensive silk shirt was stained from his banquet and wrinkled from him trying to sleep on it. A swollen bit of blue belly peeked out from under it.

Nope. Not an evil genius who had finally achieved his lifelong dream. He looked like a middle-aged (he cringed at that description) guy about to drop dead from exhaustion.

Drakken stuck his tongue out at his reflection and pressed a hand to his chest. _Stop doing that!_ he wanted to cry. _You're not supposed to be burning like that anymore! Don't you know ANYTHING?_

He was supposed to feel different, he thought as he stumbled to his bed. Better. Less itchy in the chest. Happier. More content. Safer. Like nothing was going to pop out of the shadows and hurt him anymore.

Drakken wasn't sure there was a word for _that_, either. Maybe it didn't even exist anymore.

The bed was soft. Almost too soft, like someone had just stacked a bunch of blankets up on top of each other and called it a bed. But it felt good on his poor back, and, really, all he wanted to do right now was rest.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Drakken wondered if it was possible to fall asleep in the middle of a dream. But his eyes slammed shut and he drifted away before he could come up with the answer.


	4. Chapter 4

**And we're pretty much done here. My next story won't be quite so. . . creepy. Don't know exactly how well I pull off "creepy," but, hey, you never know until you try, right?**

**Enjoy this last part, guys. That's an order. ;)**

It's dark. Dark with a capital D. . . and a capital A. . . and probably a capital R and K, too. That's the first thing he notices. He hasn't seen darkness like this since -

He shudders to himself. Since prison. No matter how many lights they turned on there, it always seemed so dark. So cold.

The corners of his mouth start to tremble, and he shakes his head, hard, to get the fear out. _You're being ridiculous, Drakken_, he scolds himself. _This isn't prison. It's dark because it's the middle of the night - du-uh!_

Okay, then. If it's the middle of the night, why is he awake? He's used to staying up into all hours of the night, but now that he's the Evil Overlord, he doesn't _need _to stay up and plan his plots or do his experiments. That thought makes his tired shoulders sag even more.

He sighs and looks up - straight into eyes. Two of them, narrowed at him in anger, and green like the emeralds he has on his crown. It looks like a giant cat.

He yelps without thinking about it, and the giant cat's hands - well, where her hands would be if he could see them - flash green glowiness at them. In their light, he can see a very familiar face.

"Shego!" he cries gleefully. "Shego, you've come back!"

She smirks at him. "Nice place you got here, Doc."

Ooooh, she sounds angry, but he almost doesn't care. Now that she's back, she can fix things - he can be happy again - his chest can stop itching and he can settle into a wonderful life as Evil - okay, maybe Stern-But-Benevolent - Ruler of The Planet Earth.

"Look, Shego, I know you're probably mad that I fired you," he sputters, "but now I can see that I made a huge mistake!"

"You sure did," Shego agrees.

"And I'll make it up to you right away!" he cries, jumping straight up out of bed. "I'll quadruple your last paycheck -"

With one hand - one _finger _- Shego pushes him back down, which is more than a little embarrassing. "Keep your buns in bed," she snarls.

Darn. She's still mad. "But, She-ego!" He hears his voice go higher in his desperation. "I'm really sorry -"

"You will be."

Huh?

That's when he notices Shego's voice sounds funny. Sort of hard and cold, in that way she always talks to Kim Possible. She doesn't usually talk to him like that, no matter how mad she gets.

He swallows hard, because his throat is suddenly getting squeezy. "Sh-Shego?" His own voice is squeakier than it's been since ninth grade.

"Did you really think I wouldn't be able to get past your robots?" Shego looks at him with one hand parked on her hip, one side of her mouth turned up in the way that makes him wonder if she's smiling or about to lose her lunch. "I know how your warped little brain works." She raps him on the head with her knuckles, harder than usual.

His brain tangles into a knot he can't figure out how to untie. "What do you mean?"

"I MEAN - why the Sam Hill didn't you order some decent security after you fired me?" Shego shakes her head mournfully. "Man, you really are helpless, aren't you?"

Who's Sam Hill? Her new boss? "I am _not _helpless!" he barks back at her.

"Dude." Shego gives her head another shake, and her smirk droops at the corners. "You are. And I'm about to prove it."

His stomach flops over, three times in a row. "Thumb-wrestling contest?" he suggests shakily, holding up his hand. _Please don't burn my thumb off, Shego. . . _

"Yeah, not so much." A hand, firm and strong even without the plasma, grabs him and shoves his head back to the pillow, holds him there. He kicks and flails and whimpers into the pillowcase. The feeling in his chest is beyond itching, beyond burning, into something horrible he doesn't even have words for. He's either having a heart attack or his heart is cracking straight down the middle.

"Shego!" he hollers, only the fabric muffles his voice so that it sounds like "Sneggoo!"

"Don't worry, Dr. D." Shego sounds strangely cheerful as she rolls him over onto his back, her other hand glowing. "I'm gonna knock you out - you won't feel a thing."

Feel _what _thing? Is she planning to operate on him? Maybe he really _is _having a heart attack, and he needs a replacement heart right away -

But no. One look at Shego evaporates that thought. Her eyes are as hard as the diamonds in his crown, which are the hardest substances on earth and can only be cut with another diamond and why the Sam Hill is he thinking about diamonds when he's about to die?

Die. At the hands of his best friend. _Former _best friend.

Fear, guilt, hurt. All in his chest. Too hard to breathe. "Shego, no!" he hollers. Or at least tries to, but the words get stuck in his throat. "Please no!" his brain screams, but he can't make it come out.

Even as the plasma comes right at his face, even as he closes his eyes and waits for impact, he knows it wouldn't have done any good. Shego's obviously made up her mind to - to - to - finish him off. And who else would hear him?

More importantly, who would _want _to hear him?

"Help! Oh, help! Stop, please!"

The words were finally coming out - pouring out, like they'd been clogged in so long he was about to explode. Drakken sat straight up in bed, legs tangled in the covers, heart pounding against his ribs so hard he could hear it roaring in his ears. He had to get away - had to escape - Shego was trying to kill him, only it was the dead of night and no one was there to save him!

Wait. He blinked and gave the room a quick scientific-type scan. There was light streaming in through the windows, pink and orange like sunset. Sunsets never happened in the middle of the night, unless the Earth's orbit had drastically changed without notifying him.

It was a dream. A dream in a dream. Man, his head hurt.

"Overlord!" A tiny metal hand grabbed Drakken's arm, and he jerked himself away. How dare this stupid robot - Iodine - come up behind him and touch him? Didn't he _know _that he hated being touched, especially when he'd just dreamed about being murdered? Why didn't anyone understand?

"Overlord, are you all right?" Iodine asked. His little binocular-eyes drooped at the corners. "You sounded like you were having quite the nightmare."

Drakken nodded numbly. He was too sleepy and shaky and lonely to deny it. Right now, he wouldn't have minded if his mother came in and rocked him on her lap and stroked his hair - well, okay, maybe he would mind it a _little_. But he sure could have used some comfort. A little bit of peace.

Comfort. Peace. Were those the words he'd been looking for when he thought about how being Overlord of the planet would make him feel?

Drakken didn't get a chance to ponder that, though, because another robot - _Bismuth,_ said his nametag - grabbed his _other _arm in a much colder, rougher grip. One that made him suck in his breath and forget, for a minute, exactly how to squirm away.

"Overlord!" Bismuth said sternly, in the kind of voice Shego always used whenever he accidentally left one of his mind-control chemicals in the freezer or something. "What were you thinking, sneaking away to nap? What would have happened in the rebels had caught you in such a vulnerable state?"

Drakken didn't know, and right now, he didn't care. His head felt like it was going to explode, and he wanted _so badly _to put it back down on the pillow, he was sure the two had been magnetized together. "I don't know," he mumbled around a throat still thick from sleepiness.

"They would kill you, that's what!" Iodine put in. "They've been entirely too rowdy as of late, and it's probably about time for you to quash another uprising - "

"No!" Drakken put his hands up over his ears. "I don't _want _to rise another quashingup! I just -" His voice cracked. "I just want to sleep!"

Those words must have zapped the remainder of his strength, because his arms flopped to his sides and he sagged in the middle - _ohhh_. Tummy still stuffed.

"Overlord, don't be childish," Bismuth scolded him.

"I'll be childish if I wanna be childish," Drakken whimpered. "I'm the ruler of the world." What was wrong with these guys? Hadn't they been programmed for unconditional obedience, which sounded less and less amazing by the minute?

"Exactly." One hand grabbed his arm - hey! - and another grabbed his other arm, and he was suddenly being jerked to his feet, everything in him swirling in confusion. How could he still feel helpless now that he'd taken over the world? This was wrong, all wrong, and more than anything, he just wanted to go home.

"Get his crown," Bismuth instructed Iodine. And before Drakken could even argue, that stupid, shiny, _heavy _crown was back on top his head. His entire spinal cord cried out in protest.

"No, no, no!" Drakken hollered. He brought both hands up over his head, trying to make it stop throbbing, trying to make things right again. "I don't want it anymore! Get it off me!"

As Bismuth and Iodine exchanged shocked looks, he reached up and snatched the crown off his head with strength he didn't know he had until .2 seconds ago. Heart still burning in his chest, he hurled the thing to the ground in defiant. . . ness. . .

****

BLIP. BLORP. BLOOP.

Drakken opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling - well, what he assumed was the ceiling. It was dark, the only lights coming from a pile of wires and chips and circuits right next to his bed.

Wait. _Why _was there a sparking pile of metal stuff right next to his bed?

He rolled over onto his belly and peered cautiously over the side, just in case one of his machines had come to life and was planning to attack him, like in the sci-fi novel he'd read last week. Very scary book. He hadn't slept for a week. And even for him, that was saying something.

The Dreamweaver lay on the ground in shattered remnants - ooh, that sounded neat. In fact, if he hadn't invented it, he wouldn't have even been able to tell what the heck it was supposed to be.

Drakken reached up and patted the top of his head, to make sure none of his hair had been singed off. Just a tiny circle right in the middle. It'd probably grow back by morning.

Hmm. He leaned back over the bed and wrinkled his nose as he considered his latest ruined invention. It couldn't have just fallen off - after all, it had been so tight when he'd tried it on. . .

The end of his dream flashed back to him. The tight, squeezy feeling in his chest. The robots looking at each other like he had finally flipped his lid. The crown hitting the floor -

__

Hold it!

Drakken fingered his scar as he thought. Maybe, if his sleep, he'd reached up and grabbed the Dreamweaver - thought it was the crown - and smashed it on the ground.

Yeah. Dream. It was all just a dream. He let out a sigh of - disappointment? Relief? Both?

Drakken fumbled under his bed until he found the digital clock he'd stuck under there because its blinking had distracted him while he was drawing blueprints. Even when he was in bed, its huge red numbers were right there in his face, like they were saying, "YOU CAN'T SLEEP, NAH-NAH-NAH-NAH-NAH!"

5:23 AM. Rats. Shego wouldn't be here for another three hours and thirty-seven minutes. That was a long time to wait in the night shadows.

A cold shudder went up Drakken's spine, and he snuggled down under the blankets, hugging his pillow tight. His right foot hit something, and he yelped out loud. What if Dementor had put some kind of tiny robot in his bed and programmed it to eat his toenails or something equally unpleasant? Or maybe Kim Possible had planted a tracking microchip in his mattress and now she would know his every move!

Throat almost all the way closed, he reached down and bumped the object with his fingers. Soft plush. Squishy. Huggable.

Oh. Drakken chuckled out loud in relief. No bombs, no robots, no tracking chips. Just Sir Fuzzymuffin the Second, his teddy bear ever since Sir Fuzzymuffin the First had perished in a tragic explosion aboard the _Drak Force One._

He snatched the bear up and cuddled their faces together until he stopped feeling like he had gasp to get air. Until the shaking stopped and his palms weren't all sticky with sweat anymore.

_Safe_.

"Sir Fuzzymuffin," Drakken whispered into the bear's fluffy ear. "Can I tell you something?"

He decided to take the silence as a "yes." That or an "I'm an inanimate object; why are you talking to me, you dolt?"

Drakken took a deep breath, snuffled, and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his pajamas. "I dreamed I was in charge of the world. I had everything I ever wanted. And I hated it!"

More silence. The clock now said 5:26.

"Nobody was there to help me - well, there were some robots but they didn't _understand _me - not that Shego always understands me, either, but at least she tries - sometimes!" He stroked Sir Fuzzymuffin's scar tenderly. "And I had to kill people, and not just Kim Possible. People I never knew! I - I don't know if I'm ready for that. . . yet."

Still more silence. "And no matter what I got - no matter what I did - I wasn't happy! I wasn't - safe!" Drakken squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could and crushed Sir Fuzzymuffin to his chest. "And if THAT won't make me happy and safe, what WILL?"

The silentest silence yet. He'd never dared to ask that. Not out loud. Not even in his head. Not really - he'd always stopped it before it was all the way thought. Sometimes being somewhat. . . uh. . . distractable came in handy.

He stuck his foot out from under the flannel sheets and poked what was left of the the Dreamweaver with his toe. "I'm gonna have to explain this to Shego."

Sir Fuzzymuffin offered no advice, so Drakken sighed and leaned back on the pillows. At least he hadn't fallen out of bed that time. Usually when he had a nightmare, he would topple right out and land on the floor, usually on his head and he would be sure he had a concussion -

"That's it!" Drakken cried, grabbing Sir Fuzzymuffin again as a brilliant thought struck him. Only _true _geniuses could have such ideas at 5:29 in the morning. "I'll just tell Shego I fell out of bed, hit my head, and broke the Dreamweaver!"

Yeah. He closed his eyes and pictured himself telling Shego, with a big sheepish grin, how he'd "self-foiled," as Kim Possible so disrespectfully put it. She'd tell him he was a moron and roll her eyes and twitch her lips, and she'd work for him and not kill him, and everything would be okay.

And maybe, just maybe, if his next few plots didn't quite work, that might be okay too. After all, Drakken had a lot to think about. He wasn't quite ready for total global domination. Yet.

It was kind of a weird thought - okay, it was a _really _weird thought - but it made perfect sense. Yeah, he'd probably need to have a talk with Shego before that ever happened. Ask her advice on a few things (in a nice, sneaky way, so she'd never know he wanted her advice). Make a deal with her - he wouldn't fire her, she wouldn't kill him.

Drakken yawned and rolled back over onto his side, Sir Fuzzymuffin clutched close, and his chest slowly stopped burning. Right now, he just wanted to savor that.

_Safe_.


End file.
